Watching Robins in the Day And Bats at Night
by fuckingimpala
Summary: A series of one-shots based off of a prompt table. Normal AU, that will star the Bat Family and include the Super Family, Team Arrow, and the Flashes. 8/100 There probably won't be any lemony stuff, but I will raise rating accordingly.
1. 8: Death

Master Bruce was eight when his parents died.

The death carved him into a new animal. Before the shooting, he was a bright, carefree young lad. He enjoyed coloring and drawing, and had quite an eye for it. Bruce would run through, swiping up cookies or stopping abruptly and dancing around the kitchen as Alfred cooked dinner. After, though, Alfred couldn't make him pick up a color pencil let alone actually use one. Whenever the Elliot boy would come around, Alfred would ask Bruce if he wanted to see him and the boy would just shake his head. For months all the boy would do was sit and stare out the window into the large yard surrounding the mansion. During the day he'd watch as the robins flew through the air, and in the evening, the bats.

His tutors got correct answers out of him, but not for the reason of Bruce having his previous yearning for knowledge, it was strictly for his genius level IQ. Alfred tried in vain for years for him to have any passion, like he once had.

Once he reached the age of thirteen, Alfred got the letter in the mail for the boarding school the Waynes had signed him up for at a young age. Bruce was adamant that he'd follow his parents wishes, so Alfred helped him pack.

The mansion was so quite for so long, but the school made Bruce socialize with boys his own age, and he picked up his friendship with Tommy again.

Once Bruce graduated from college (at the young age of twenty, busy, studious summers had their advantages) he was very persistent in getting a job for Wayne Enterprises, and being part of his father's company.

It was a late night when Bruce told Alfred of his plans to help people. People like him, whose parents were gone and never coming back. When Alfred asked what he meant, Bruce looked up at the Wayne family portrait above the mantle, and said, clear as day, "I'm going to adopt an orphan."

Master Dick was twelve when his parents died.


	2. 84: A Place to Belong

If Jason had to guess, he'd say that each tire could quite easily go for twenty-five dollars. That's a hundred dollars of food. A hundred dollars of warmer clothes. A hundred dollars of maybe renting the corner of Candy's shabby one room apartment. A hundred dollars he doesn't have to get that way.

"Um…" Jason turned around, and goddamn, that's probably the owner of this goddamn car. The man, hereby referred to by The-Man-In-The-Hat, was very tall and strong-looking. "What are you planning to do with my tires?"

Jason looked at him for a second, looked at the tools of his trade in his hands, looked to the car, and looked back to The-Man-In-The-Hat. He decided to do what any boy in his position would do.

He ran.

* * *

"Master Bruce, are you sure this is wise?" Alfred asked, checking the door every few minutes to check for Dick. If he was correct, Alfred would imagine that Dick might be quite hurt at the prospects Bruce were contemplating.

"I've never been more sure, Alfred," Bruce said, buttering his bread. "If you'd seen him, Alfred. He couldn't have been younger than eleven, but he looked like he was eight, he was so thin. Tall, though. I'm telling you, Alfred, I assure you, I won't regret this. So, I need a warm jacket and a called in favor with that artist!"

"Master Bruce, I'm not sure Master Dick will-"

"I won't what?" Dick said, sauntering into the dinning room. He looked as suave as he always did in the preparation of school, hair gelled perfectly and flawlessly designed outfit.

"Nothing, Dick. I've just decided something, and Alfred is unsure of how it will pan out."

"Well, isn't Alfred usually right about these things?" Dick asked, as Bruce prepared for the harsh winds and snow the storm was serving.

Bruce placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Not this time, I think not."

"Bruce, it's storming out. Hard. Maybe it could wait until at least after dinner?"

"I'm afraid not, Dick." Dick just furrowed his brow.

* * *

"Is this the boy you told us about, Mister Wayne?" the policeman asked, holding Jason by the collar of his shirt. Mister Wayne. Huh, so he'd tried to steal the Prince of Gothem's tires...Sweet.

"Yes, Commissioner," Wayne said, offering his hand. The policeman released Jason and shook his hand. Jason tried to dart away, 'cause be saw an exit symbol out of the corner of his eye.

Wayne caught him just in time. "I don't think so, son," the commissioner said, grabbing him again by the back of his shirt. "Mister Wayne wants to talk to you for a minute."

Jason raised an eyebrow and turned to Wayne. "What?" Wayne looked around for a second and then nodded to a row of chairs against the wall adjacent to the one they had been talking near. Jason followed him, as the faster he was done with Mister Billionaire, the faster he could escape.

"So, what's your name?" Wayne asked, smiling brightly, and resting his arm on the back of Jason's chair.

"What's yours?" he retorted, crossing his arms. He knew, but he wasn't going to tell his name to some guy who wouldn't tell him his.

Wayne's smile turned to a smirk, "Bruce Wayne, call me Bruce."

Jason knew this from the 'Mister Wayne's Gordon was handing out. "Jason. Todd."

* * *

Today was going well.

Admittedly, it was only seven a.m., but Dick isn't the type to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Roy had called Dick to say he was pretty sure Ollie was going to let him come over soon, if not this weekend. And Roy had his license. They could do things without the hawk eyes of Bruce, Ollie, Alfred or Dinah knowing. (The only downside to Roy calling was that he always either forgot the time difference or went the wrong way. This time, the latter, ending up with a four a.m. phone call from a sleep deprived Californian.)

To add to the awesome, Alfred had made him pancakes this morning. Pancakes! Bruce usually kept things healthy, with bran based cereals laced with fiber and concentrated boredom, sometimes with a side of egg whites, and always with skim milk. But not this morning! This morning Alfred made fluffy, buttery, syrupy PANCAKES!

Plus? A snow day! The snowing hadn't stopped at all through the night. Of course, Dick only knew this because he'd stayed up all night waiting for Bruce to get home. Dick asked Alfred this morning, and he said he didn't arrive until two in the morn-

"Mister Pennyworth?" Dick turned around. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen was a strange, skinny, smelly boy. "I forg-you never showed me where the bathroom was."

Strange, skinny, smelly, and rude.

Alfred hummed at the boy, grasping his shoulder loosely. As he led the boy back down the hall, he looked back at Dick, saying with his eyes that he'd explain momentarily.

Damn right you'll explain momentarily. Though Dick had thought it pretty hard, he hadn't actually said it. That didn't stop Alfred from giving him a look that said he knew, anyway.

Obviously, if Alfred knew about the boy, then he hadn't broken in. Hell, he knew Alfred's name. Plus, Wayne Manor was a fortress, born from Bruce's intense paranoia of the press ruining Dick's childhood.

Dick spent the time it took Alfred to bring the smelly little boy to the bathroom on the second floor and back cursing Bruce and the horse he rode in on.

Once Alfred arrived, Dick started right in, "Who was the boy? Why was he in the house? Why does he know your name? Does Bruce know he's here? Are you related to him? Why did he smell like he hadn't bathed in months? Why was he so skinny? Why is he here?"

Alfred gave Dick a strictly displeased look. "Now, Master Richard, I know you weren't prepared, completely unaware, of this situation, but...Master Bruce is very sure this is a good idea."

"And, what, exactly, is this idea?" Dick asked, dropping his fork into his plate, and crossing his arms. The pancakes he'd looked so forward to eating now felt heavy in his stomach.

"Master Dick," Alfred said, but stopped. He pulled a bar stool next to Dick's place at he island. He gently laid a hand on Dick's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Master Richard, Master Bruce has adopted Master Jason."

Dick felt the ground fall from under him. He looked down to his knotted fingers, felt his chin start to quiver. He viciously bit his lower lip. "Am I...am I not enough for him?" Am I getting too old for him to want me anymore? Am I not good enough? Was I never good enough? Doesn't he love me? Dick felt a tear slip down his cheek, as, even though he didn't voice the questions, they were probably more important.

Alfred moved his arm so he was half embracing Dick, "Master Richard, that's not it at all. Master Bruce loves you, so very dearly. He just-Jason needs his help too, just as much as you did. Perhaps even more. He doesn't have an entire circus willing to take him into their home."

Dick felt someone wipe a tear from his cheek. He turned to Alfred, but it wasn't him. Bruce stood there, and held out his arms for Dick. Dick jumped up, right into his arms. Bruce wrapped his arms around his waist, keeping Dick suspended about six inches suspended in the air.

"Dick. You know I love you, and you'll always be my little Robin, but Jason...Jason has no one and no where, and I was hoping this could become his place to belong, like it became for you." Bruce looked at him with hopeful eyes and Dick sniffled. "Dick, hearts aren't solid rooms with stable walls and a confined amount of space. They're like a circus tent, that can be stretched and added onto, so they have enough space to fit as much as needed."

Bruce put his hand on Dick's cheek, wiping away another stray tear with his calloused thumb. Dick pressed his cheek into the hand and nodded. "Okay," he finally murmured, "I just wish you'd told me before he came in smelling like garbage and asking where the bathroom is."

Bruce cuffed the back of his head, and gave him a light noogie.

* * *

"Alright, Jason my boy, I just have one rule!" Dick gesticulated, waving his free arm about and tightening the arm around Jason. Dick had insisted on giving him the 'brothers-only tour of the mansion'. To try to bond, Jason was sure. "One, don't go in my room. Two, don't question the wardrobe."

Jason looked at his 'brother', and could understand the second ruling. To tell the truth, he probably would have said something, if Dick hadn't said that. Dick was wearing bright green bike shorts with a blood red over sized tank-top (maybe Bruce's? Probably, given the size) and an over sized mustard yellow sweatshirt tied around his neck. Also...green slippers shaped like Peter Pan's pixie boots.

Jason sighed, and ran a hand through his red hair. It was getting long, maybe Candy would-No, Candy wouldn't, because a rich Wayne boy would never be seen with a trick. Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

"Alright, so this is the Drawing Room. I don't know why it's called that, but it's pretty much a living room outside, well beside, Bruce's office. Which is through there, and next door in the hall. Also? The office is off limits, unless it's after six or the weekend." Dick kept blathering on, Jason only listening when he wanted to. He was kinda sick of listening to Dick talk, but he didn't want to offend him. Bruce might kick him out if he didn't get along with his Golden Robin.

"Master Richard, Mister Harper is on the phone for you," Alfred said, holding the cordless in the door way.

Dick seemed to brighten, and ran to the door. "Roy! Dude! You'll never guess what Bruce did!...Oh my, god! Really?...I'll be right down to the gate!" He started to leave, but at the last second , turned around, "Jason, dude, are you coming? My friend, Roy, is down stairs and I want him to meet my new baby brother!"

"I'm not a baby," Jason said, even as he moved to the door. There may not be a Candy and he may not be able to pick-pocket anymore, but maybe this was a place he could finally belong.


	3. 95: Innocence

It happened a long time ago. A really long time ago. Back when Kon still had that stupid, _fake_ gold hoop earring, and that _dumb_ haircut, and Tim kind of had the _biggest_ crush on him.

So really, a long time ago.

But Tim never forgot one second of it.

※

It was the first time Bruce had allowed Kon in the mansion. Bruce was still unsure that Kon wasn't some _implant_ from Luthor, planning on taking over Wayne Enterprises by _talking_ to the CEO's adoptive son. Bruce is a bit paranoid, as Dick has always said, especially when it came to his boys.

But Tim had been living there for a whole year, and Kon (and Bart, but Bart's always been allowed in, because he's Wally's cousin, and Dick and Wally are best friends) is his only friend, his best friend, that has to deal with this insane community Bruce has built around himself (Well, yes, Bart is part of it, but he doesn't realize how batshit crazy everyone is, because his parents are even _more_ protective than Bruce is). Dick (who's on break from Hudson University) drives him to the airport, and made Jason sit in the back (Jason bitched the whole way there, and Dick didn't say anything because of Jason's gaunt face and the white bandages still wrapped around Jason's wrists), because Tim would be sitting in the back on the way home.

When they finally get to the airport, they see Clark before they see Kon. Tim didn't know Clark was coming.

"Clark! What are you doing here, I thought we were picking up Kon?" Dick asked, as Tim wraps Kon in a hug. It doesn't last long, because Kon discreetly pushed Tim off. Tim let it go, but planned to ask about it later.

"You are picking up Conner, I'm waiting for a connecting flight to London. Lois and I…" Tim stopped listening to the adult talk, and turned back to Kon.

Kon, who's standing there with _Jason_, paling around with _Jason_, and Tim couldn't give him their ordinary _hug_.

Oh there would be _hell_ to play.

※

"Dude, only fags hug each other, hell, touch each other besides bro stuff, ya'know?" Kon replied, a _safe_ distance away. Had it been a few months ago, Tim and Kon would have both been sitting on Kon's full sized bed in the apartment Luthor set up for him in Metropolis, but as it was, Tim was sitting on his bed and Kon was sitting across the room in Tim's metal papasan chair.

"No, Dick and Roy hug, like, every other time I see them!" Tim replies. Dick is the epitome of straight, only spectacularly straight people could date girls like Kory Anders.

Kon gives him a look like he belongs in the abandoned asylum outside of the City. "Tim. Timmy-Boy, my poor child. Dick and Roy have been boinking since they were our age." Kon seemed to think of something and blushed, turned the papasan back to the paused video game.

"No, they haven't! Dick has had girlfriends! Like lots of girlfriends! He's a serial monogamist! If he had dated Roy, I would know! I spent half of my childhood sneakily stalking him at Wayne Foundation dinners!" Tim exclaimed, pulling the cordless controller out of Kon's long fingered hands. How was Kon only a year older, but about eight inches taller than Tim? "And he wouldn't have cheated on any of his harem! He thinks that adulterers deserve to be castrated!"

"Whatever, dude, Bart told me, and Wally let it slip to him, and if anyone would know it'd be the third in their little ménage à trois," Kon rolled his eyes, willingly touching Tim for the first time by grabbing at the controller. But Bruce wasn't just paranoid about security cameras and fifteen-year-old spies, all three of his boys had self defense training (Tim excelled the most in the martial arts, as Jason fought dirty, and Dick tended to fall back to cheap theatrics to avoid confrontation, "you can take the boy out of the circus, but you can't take the circus out of the boy," he always said, smile wide on his dumb little face), so Kon wasn't getting the controller back without using his brute force, and sensing his attitude towards touch lately, that wasn't likely.

Tim's eyes bugged out, "You mean Wally, too?"

Kon looked confused for a second, the shook his head vehemently, "Dude not like that! I mean the image of _Dick_ and _Roy_ is bad enough, but adding in Wally is too much ginger!" It was Tim's turn to roll his eyes. He tossed Kon's controller back to him, and sat in the adjacent papasan. "Besides, Wally is, like, the only completely heterosexual guy that you Gothamite freaks _have_ in this little universe that seems to orbit you!"

"Lord. Dick and Roy, huh?"

Kon nodded solemnly. "And Dick and Garth, and Dick and Gar, and Dick and _Clark_." Kon seemed to bite his tongue at something, and Tim was grateful, this was too much to know as it was.

"_CLARK? WHAT?_" And Tim was intensely grateful the walls were soundproof. Apparently the room next door actually _was_ a harem.

Kon nodded his head again. "Yep. A few months ago, when Dick and Bruce got in that fight, and Dick went to stay in Metropolis, with Clark. They got drunk one night and...yeah," Kon takes a gulp of the diet grape Zesti, "That's how Kara tells it anyway. She woke them up the next morning, and they were naked as the day they were born."

Tim stared at Kon's throat as he swallowed another sip. (Well gulp, what Kon did while drinking could never be put as delicately as a sip.)

"Kon. You know what I don't get? How Dick, socially awkward, laughs at jokes about his name, couldn't take a heart attack seriously, thinks walking is for lame people, _Dick Grayson_. Has had _sex_ with all these people, and he's only eighteen. Only _four_ years older than me, and I've never _kissed_ anyone. _Anyone_!"

Kon looked at him for a long minute, then suddenly his chin quivered, then the corner of his eye, then the opposite corner of his lip, then he was smiling like it was going out of fashion. "You've never kissed _anyone_?" Kon sounded like he was going to laugh.

Tim scowled, and pulled his hood lower over his eyes. He shouldn't be hurt, this was entirely in character for Kon, who, on the best of occasions was tactless, on the worse, wouldn't understand why you were upset your dad died. It's how it is when you're raised for thirteen years by a Luthor. Tim was more hurt that he had expected Kon not to laugh. "No. I haven't."

"Sorry, dude, it's just I have a standing bet that you'll be kissed before Bart." Except Kon was lying. Tim knew his lying voice, it was the one he used on Clark when Clark asked if he'd been watching porn again, or if he had detention.

"A bet?"

"Yeah, dude, it's not money, either, it's kissing Cassie, and you know how Diana and Donna are so damn protective of Cassie."

Tim rolled his eyes. The problem in that logic (or genius, from Bart's point of view) is that Diana and Donna think Bart is adorable and hate Kon's guts.

"I don't know why you'd put your bet on me, it's not like I'm rolling in girls!"

Kon rolled his eyes, "Yeah, but Bart is, well, Bart!" He scratched his chin, which had a few pathetic whiskers that he insisted would be a goatee, soon, and refused to shave off. "But seriously, not even a mishap beneath mistletoe?"

"Well, whatever, I just- I don't get what the big deal is!" Tim confessed, crossing his arms and pulling his legs up, so his feet were braced on the edge of the papasan.

Kon smiled, the first time since he'd arrived. "Dude, only people who have never kissed anyone say that. Once you've kissed someone, you'll get why."

Tim frowned, and pursed his lip. "So, you've kissed someone?" Of course Kon had kissed someone, he was gorgeous, all tan and strong muscles, blue eyes and wide lips, long legs and broad shoulders. He moved his gaze down to hands, worrying a hole in the spot just above the knee of his pants.

"Dude, yeah. Like I didn't make out with Tam before Luthor tore me away from Hawaii." Kon scratched the back of his head. "And I maybe kissed this boy that lives at the farm next to the Kents."

Tim jerked his head up so fast he might have given himself whiplash. The hope that sparked a flame in his heart flickered into existence. "A boy? But what about 'only gays hug each other, hell, touch each other besides bro stuff, ya'know?'" Tim mimicked with his creepy accuracy.

"I-" Kon rubbed at one of his eyes with two fingers.

"Dude, you wouldn't hug me!"

Kon looked distinctly guilty for a second, before muttering, "I may have been overcompensating."

"Dude!"

"Okay, so I definitely was, but this is still new to me!" Kon threw his hands into the air, then settled one into his hair, which scratched at the nape of his neck. "I mean, Matt just like, kissed me. Outta no where, and I liked it, but I'm straight, ya'know, and-and. I dunno if it's _boys_ or just this _one_ boy, ya'know?"

Tim bit his lip, thinking for a second. "Well, maybe I have a way to fix both our problems."

Kon furrowed his brow for a second. The moment he realized, was like he'd been gobsmacked with a fish, mouth falling open, eyes opening dramatically wide. "What? Dude, we're friends, and friends don't do that unless they don't want to be friends, because it does nothing but fuck everything up. Unless it works out in the long run, and dude, you're fourteen and never kissed anyone before, it won't work out, and I kinda love you in a bro way and don't want to risk this in anyway other than maybe telling you how batshit crazy ass your family is, because fuck they are! I mean what the hell happened with Jason anyways, and Dick has more Daddy issues than I do, and I maybe shouldn't have said that but I don't even think you understand what I'm saying right now, so it doesn't even matter, and I'm rambling to myself, but if I don't ramble to myself, I might let you kiss me, which would be worse, so _not_ gonna happen, because like I said, there are good risks and bad risks, which _hey_, kissing probably isn't a good one at our age and-"

Tim kissed him. Well, leaped at his face, but still, lips touched lips. He was actually very grateful for the eight inches and fifty-somewhat pounds Kon had on him, otherwise the papasan would have fallen over backwards. He framed Kon's face with his hands, and Kon picked him up by his thighs, going over to the bed and plopping him down. As Tim bounced on the bed and looked up at Kon's flushed face, he realized he'd never been so turned on in his life.

Kon turned and fell to the floor, his head rested on Tim's knee and his hands coming up to rest behind his head. Tim's own hands were in his lap, itching to run his hands through Kon's bad "retro" '90s haircut.

"I don't get why this whole 'gay' thing bothers you so much." Tim said, the boner in his lap wanted attention, but Kon seemed content in just the one, wonderful, perfect kiss.

Kon furrowed his brow. "I'm not gay. Bisexual with mostly female leanings, a one on the Kinsey Scale."

"But still, you were really upset. You wouldn't let me _hug_ you." In the Land of Tim, a hug was to be treasured, that's what Kon had said last month in Metropolis, because in the Land of Tim, touching was up there with plague and disease, something to be avoided at all cost.

"Well, Tim, you're not part of that incidental homosexual behavior, you're my best friend, our relationship is completely platonic." Kon said, sitting, legs splayed in front of him on the floor. Tim looked down at his hands in his lap and thought about how completely non-platonic his hard on felt. "You're this innocent little dude in my eyes and I'm still a bit weirded out that I'm bisexual. I just. I've been a bitch. So, can we redo the hug? I need a Tim Hug." Tim nodded, biting his lip, and Kon jumped up from the floor, tackling Tim to the bed.

It was a good thing Tim could bury his face in Kon's shoulder for a moment, because even Kon couldn't overlook the look of pain crossing Tim's face.

Best friend. Platonic. Innocent. Of course the moment that Tim would realize Kon meant more, more than this dumb little crush in the back of his mind, would be the moment he found out their relationship couldn't be more.


	4. 61: Hearfelt Apology

Ever since Tim joined the Wayne Adoption Club, as Jason called it, dinners have always been either piercingly quiet or spectacularly loud. Jason said that it wasn't always like that, but has been ever since last June, when Dick and Bruce got into the fights to end all fights. Tim now knew that it was over Dick "wasting his potential" (Bruce's words) and certain people being "thicker than elephant hide" (Dick's). Tim also knew that Dick had spent that summer sleeping with what seemed like everyone Tim knew, besides Bruce (and Alfred, but that went without saying), trying to fill the hole his seemingly estranged, family left.

"So, boys, I got an e-mail from the high school, telling the parents about the school dance next weekend," Bruce asked, when conversation about the Titans fell quiet, as it always did within five minutes of it starting. "Do either of you have a date?"

"Dances are part of the fascists' way of keeping us in line. Here, come to this dance that everyone will be talking about on Monday, but it won't be worth it because the Nazi teachers will be keeping you the good Christian distance away from each other!"

Bruce closed his eyes at Jason's rant. Ever since the _incident_, Bruce had been letting Jason get away with a lot more of and with his spiels, but had lately been biting out things like the following, "So Cass turned you down?" At Jason's scowl, he turned to Tim, who sunk down an inch in his chair. "What about you, Tim?"

To tell the truth, Tim didn't want to go with _anyone_. Tam Fox had asked him, for a friendship thing, Steph had asked him on uncertain terms, but Tim mostly just wanted to stay home this weekend and only break up his sulking of his non-relationship with Kon by texting Kon. And maybe Bart. And maybe Cassie or Cissie.

"What are you talking about, Bruce? No one wants Tim!" Jason said, smirking, he was moving his food around his plate (his appetite had been significantly reduced since the _incident_) and it cut a little too close to home. "He's the _innocent_ one of the brood, haven't you heard? All math and no mate." He punctuated the sentence with a small thrust of his hips.

It was probably that damn _word_ that made Tim react the way he did, the word that Kon used to pound the final nail in his coffin. But Tim knew, as soon as he stood up, that he was over reacting.

"Shut the fuck up, Jason. At least I have friends. At least I have girls who wanted to go with me! At least I have people that want to _talk_ to me. I mean, Christ, I didn't try to run away from the only _four_ fucking people in the world, population six billion, that would even _want_ to help me! That would _care_ if I died! That would _notice_!"

Bruce shot up, as did Dick. "_Timothy_!" Bruce shouted and Dick pulled Tim back from where he was leaning across the table, but it didn't stop him.

"Because really, Jason, we all know, you're nothing but a punk ass kid from the gutter that gets too big for his britches and lashes out for the attention. I'm sick of it! I'm sick of being your proverbial punching bag because of your issues with _inadequacy_!"

Tim stopped to take a breath, but lost his gusto when he noticed Jason had silent tears making there way down his face, face scrunched in anger.

"Are you done?" Jason asked, voice eerily steady. Tim didn't know how to respond, and looked back to Dick, who still had a firm grip on Tim's upper arms, face impassive, then to Bruce, who looked _disappointed_. Ugh.

He finally looked back at Jason, mouth moving soundlessly. Jason did a weird head bobbing motion and ran from the room.

"Dick, let him go," Bruce said softly. As soon as Dick did as he said, Tim fell down into his seat. "Will you go check on your brother, Dick?" Dick nodded and squeezed Tim's shoulder as he left the room. Tim flinched from the contact and hoped neither of them noticed. "Now, Tim, care to tell us what that was all about?"

Tim thought about actually telling him. About how he didn't mean any of what he said to Jason, he only said it because of that _damn word_. About how he thinks he likes boys a hell of a lot more than he likes girls. About how he thinks his first "real love" is going to be someone who doesn't think about him _remotely_ the same way. About how that person is the only one of his friends Bruce seems to hate. About how he feels ugly because that one person didn't even get turned on when they shared that mind numbing kiss.

"I-" Tim looked at Bruce's expectantly looking face. "I'm going to go talk to Jason." 

※

Dick was standing at Jason's door when he got there, gently knocking and calling through the door, "C'mon, Jay. Hoodie? Jay-Jay, c'mon, open the door for me. I'm sure Ti-" He looked into Tim's face when he realized he had approached. "I'm sure Timmy didn't mean what he said, he was blatantly upset."

"Fuck Tim! God, he could strangle me in my sleep, and all you fucking assholes would do is make sure he didn't hurt his pweshus ickle _Timmy_ fingews!"

"Jay, you know that's not true. We love you!"

Something smashed in the room, and Jason yelled, "Yeah fucking right, Grayson! You've resented me since I fucking got here, you little prick!" There was another crash then a thump.

"Jason! Jason, are you okay?" Dick called through the door and he and Tim pressed their ears to the door.

Suddenly they both lurched forward, as Jason swung the door open, and fell down at his feet.

"Very graceful, acrobat." Jason's face was flushed and tear-stained, and Tim could see from his position on the floor that his room was completely trashed. "You too, dick-face."

"Jason, I - Can I talk to you in private," Tim said, as he and Dick stood up. Dick nodded his consent, and left. Jason glared at him openly for a moment, then nodded him into the room. Jason grabbed two of the ratty old couch's cushions on his way to said ratty old couch. He threw one of the cushions at Tim's head then plopped himself down on his own on the frame.

Tim sat down cross-legged on the couch, facing Jason, who sprawled out, in a typical "man watching football" pose.

"I'm sorry, Jay."

Jason rolled his eyes, "Yeah, whatever."

"No, Jay, what I said, I don't feel that way. You - Well, your kind of horrible to me most of the time, actually. You tried to kill me once-"

Jason shook his head, "Almost doesn't count. And besides, that was only because the pharmacist fucked up my meds."

Tim's eye twitched and he wrinkled his nose at the ghost feeling of hands around his throat. "Right, well. Regardless, most of the time you're awesome, when you're not beating me half to death, and I've grown to love you."

Jason snorted and picked at the knee hole on his left pant leg. "Yeah, whatever, brotherly love is abundant in Wayne Manor."

Tim took a deep breath and crossed his arms around his shins. "I want to tell you why I...said what I said."

"You don't have to do that, Red. I get it, it's your time of the month." Through Jason's sarcasm, Tim could see that he was offering forgiveness, but Tim needed to tell this to someone, and Jason wouldn't tell anyone. Because regardless of how long Jason had lived with Bruce, he would always live according to the street. It was the same with how Dick would always live in the circus in his head, Jason would forever have that touch of gutter rat in his blood.

"No, Jay, Hoodie, I need to." Tim took a deep breath. "I hate that word."

Jason rolled his eyes and raised his brow. "What word?"

"_Innocent_. I - I like this person, and when I kissed...the person, the person said that I was a "perfectly _innocent_" person, and didn't see me as anything else." Tim looked up for the first time, and Jason was looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"Don't think I didn't catch the lack of gender specific pronouns, there, Timmy." Tim sighed and Jason looked worried. A light bulb all but appeared over his head and he seemed angry. "You've been P.M. since Kon stayed over a month ago. It's him, isn't it?"

Tim looked away, toward the blanket covered window that the couch was pressed against. He wished that the blanket wasn't there. Jason's window faced the East Gardens, and the robins were always swooping through the air, this time of day.

"I'm gonna kill that cock-sucker! That little mother-fucker! I fucking warned him! I'm gonna kick his fucking ass! No, fuck that, I'm gonna fucking tell Dick, and Dick will kick his ass to kingdom come, and tell Clark and Clark will _apologize_ to Bruce, and Bruce will make him wish that Luthor never mixed him in a petri dish!" Jason was pacing the room, now, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

Tim widened his eyes and clutched his knees closer to his chest. What in all holy hell was Jason talking about? "Jason! What the fuck? What do you mean, 'warned'?"

Jason looked at him like he was dumb for a second, then rolled his eyes, "You think Bruce lets anyone talk to us? You? I mean, c'mon, Timmy, if you were any more naïve, it'd be a form of mental retardation."

"I'm not naïve, Jason!"

"You are when it comes to people! I mean, Christ, you think Stephanie Brown is okay with being 'just friends'!"

Tim scowled and crossed his own arms. "Whatever." Tim stood up, and started to cross the room. "You better clean up your room, at least to its normal state of chaos. You know how Alfred feels about your little fits."

Just as Tim was about to leave he looked back and saw Jason smirking a little. "You little prick! You totally just distracted me from the fact that you threatened my best friend!"

Jason sighed and nodded, "Remember that time in Metropolis when you went to the bathroom and came back and asked Kon if he was okay, because he looked sick?"

"What did you say to him! He ran to the bathroom and _threw up_!"

Jason shrugged his shoulders and looked away. "Nothing I'd ever say remotely near hearing distance of Bruce." Tim glared at him. "Man, someone does it to everyone we meet. Bruce did it for Dick with Donna, Roy, Wally, and Garth. Dick did it for me with Sasha. I did it for you with Kon, Bart, and Slobo, and Dick did Cassie, Cissie, and Greta." Tim continued to glare. "It's a precaution. I mean, Christ, do you know in how many people out there would want Bruce Wayne's darling boys for ransom?"

This time Tim did leave, slamming the door and thumping down the hall to his room.

He hated his brothers sometimes.


	5. 62: Luck

**The First Time: Or the Time Kon was Proven Right**

Dick sank down, until his hips were pressed flush into Roy's, a groan pulling at his lips. Roy was sloppily pressing wet kisses to Dick's neck and chest, lightly nipping at a collar bone before meeting Dick's mouth.

Roy's open mouth pressed to his own, Dick licked the roof of his mouth and sucked his tongue, grinding Roy's dick into his ass in little hip rolls. Roy groaned once more into his mouth and collapsed back onto the couch, holding onto Dick's hips, gripping them in a tight, bruising hold. He snapped his hips back and up, hitting that sweet spot in Dick.

Dick let out a mighty moan, head falling back, neck barred, back arching. Roy moved one hand up to thumb at Dick's nipple, then slid it back down to grasp Dick's thighs, lifting them both up from the couch. Dick wrapped his long legs around Roy's waist, bucking forward onto Roy's hips.

Roy slammed him into the wall, pulling back his hips just enough, then slamming back in, over and over until Dick was writhing against him.

"Please, Roy, Roy, ugh, oh," Dick had reached that phase of heightened ecstasy where he started embarrassing himself. "_Please._ Please, Roy, oh, plea-"

"Dick are you o - Oh my, God, I'm so-so sorry!" Dick and Roy froze, turning their head towards the door.

There stood Tim. Dick's youngest brother. Shit.

**The Second Time: Or the Time Tim was Scarred Beyond All Belief**

Bruce kissed Clark's knee, looking up into Clark's clear blue eyes. He licked and nipped his way up Clark's inner thigh, until he reached the heavy cock bobbing against Clark's flat stomach.

He licked around the base of his cock, sucked one of his balls into his mouth, rolling the other one in his fingers.

But Bruce Wayne is ever the tease, so the first time Clark bucked into Bruce's mouth, he moved down the other thigh, giving it the same treatment the other received. Bruce gently massaged Clark's thighs, resting between Clark's strong legs and panting, gaze fixed on Clark's.

Bruce licked his lips and nuzzled Clark's thin pubic hair, breathing in his musky scent. He mouthed at the base of Clark's cock, licking up the thick vein that ran on the underside. He sucked the head into his mouth, tasting Clark's strong flavor.

Just as Clark's head had brushed the back of his throat, the door to Bruce's office slammed open. "Bruce, din-_ARGH!_" Bruce choked on Clark's cock and almost threw up as it slid out of his mouth. He turned and saw the tail end of Tim turning the corner.

"OH MY GOD, I'M SCARRED FOR LIFE! ALFRED I NEED _BLEACH_ FOR MY /iEYES!/i"

**The Third Time: Or the Time Where They Didn't Realize**

The two people were so intwined, Tim was sure that they wouldn't notice if the earth fell down around them.

Jason was gently kissing Cass, holding her tight to him and slowly thrusting in and out, in small movements. Cass, normally so quiet, was making high, light, mewing noises, clutching at Jason's long back.

Tim had never seen any two people fit so right together. When he closed the door, it made a low clicking noise, and he heard Jason softly ask, "Did you hear something?"

**The Fourth Time: Or the Time Tim Wanted to Kill Himself Because He's So Damn Pathetic**

It was one thing for _Dick_ or _Jason_ or _Steph_ or _Bernard_ to lose their virginity before Tim. Dick was four years older than Tim. Jason is about one year older, with the added effect of living on the streets most of his life. Steph had intimacy issues. And Bernard. Well Bernard's Bernard.

But Damian is _five. years. younger._ than him, and if that isn't a blow to the ego, then what is?

But here Tim is, staring in shock at Damian and his pet orphan (seriously, what is it with Waynes and orphans?) dry humping and making out like rabbits on the demon's bed.

What. the. fuck.

"Damian al Ghul-Wayne! What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_!" Tim shouted, at the top of his lungs. The fourteen-year-olds froze, then in a burst of movement, Colin threw himself back, landing on his ass on the floor, and Damian pushed himself away from the door so that his back was against the wall.

Tim lurched forward and grabbed Damian by his ridiculous black and yellow hoodie. He pulled the younger boy out the door, all the while yelling away at him. "You are fourteen years-old! _Fourteen_! I haven't even gone that far and I'm _nineteen_! Damian Wayne! Ruining the virtue of poor little Colin! I'm telling Alfred! And the Nuns! What did you tell that little boy? What is wrong with you! _Fourteen_!"

**The Situations Reversed Time: Or the Time Tim Really Wished He Had Remembered to Lock the Door**

They had shared mutual orgasms six times, before, only one of those being intercourse, so Tim figures it's okay to still be nervous when Kon is licking his way down his chest.

The larger boy nipped at his navel, before pulling back. "Flip over," he said, "there's something I wanna try."

Tim did as told, so his dick was pressed between his belly and the bedspread. Kon grabbed Tim's hips, pulling them up, until his dick didn't touch the bed, then he grabbed Tim's thighs, spreading them. He rubbed his hand up, so they each had a separate grasp in his ass cheeks. He spread them open, moving his thumbs until they framed Tim's hole.

He leaned forward and licked once, Tim jerked back into the touch and let out a gasp. "Kon!" Tim could practically feel Kon's smile against his ass. Kon flicked his tongue over and over, around and around, adding his fingers, until Tim was a mewling mess, squirming and pressing back into Kon's face, until he was begging, "Kon, please, please, Kon, I-Oh, god," and Kon pulled back. He licked a stripe up Tim's back, until their hips were pressed together.

Kon aligned his dick to Tim's hole, slowly moving in. "God, Tim, so _tight._"

"Yeah, Drake, I bet that ass is tight," said a laughing voice and Tim and Kon _froze._ Tim looked over his shoulder and saw something he never wanted to see.

All three of his brothers. Staring at him. With Kon's dick in his ass. Dick's face was purple, like he wanted to beat the shit out of something ("Probably Kon," a voice in the back of Tim's head supplied), Jason was holding back laughter, and Damian was rolling his eyes.

"Drake, it's movie night. It's your choice, but since I know think I have to gouge my own eyes out, I'm taking your turn."


	6. 17: Tears

**Five Times Dick Gave Someone Their First Dick!Hug, and One Time Someone Gave Him A Hug**  
Dick gives the best hugs. It's common knowledge. Seriously. Had a bad day? Hug Dick. Boyfriend or girlfriend broke up with you? Hug Dick. Your dad dies? Hug Dick.

Dick is the master of hugs. Nothing can make you feel better about yourself than Dick's arms holding you tight.

**5. Bruce**

About two weeks into summer vacation, the first year Dick lived with Bruce, Dick noticed that Bruce had gotten into a sort of funk.

He would come down to breakfast in the morning, grab a cup of coffee to go, then leave for the office. Dick would spend the day hovering around the manor, under Alfred's feet, distinctly not asking what was wrong with Bruce. When he got home at night, he would eat dinner, then spend the rest of his time before bed in his office. The first few nights, Dick would knock on Bruce's office door, and gently ask if Bruce wanted to watch the new hammock act Dick came up with. Each time, Bruce would say he was busy, maybe later.

Finally Dick reached his breaking point. Bruce hadn't even gotten coffee this morning, just left, his hair a wet mess from his shower, only half of his shirt tucked in, and his tie knotted loosely around his neck.

"Alfie?" Dick picked at his cereal with his spoon, pushing the flakes around the bowl.

Alfred put the frying pan in the water and turned around, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he moved to the breakfast nook, where Dick sat. "Yes, Master Dick? Is there something you require?"

"What's been up with Bruce lately? I mean-" does he regret taking me in? Dick didn't finish the thought, but Alfred's telepathic, so it didn't matter.

"He - hmm." Alfred sat down next to Dick, placing the towel in front of him. "You know that Master Bruce is an orphan, the same as yourself?" Dick nodded, remembering the story of an eight year old and a man with a gun. "The anniversary of his parents' death is today." Dick's eyes widened. "It was worse when he was younger. The first anniversary, he didn't leave his bedroom, didn't leave his bed, merely cried all day, curled under the duvet."

Dick bit his lip. He looked down at his tangled fingers and asked, almost under his breath, "Does it make me a bad person to not be as affected by my parents' deaths?" Dick looked up at Alfred, who looked stricken.

"Of course not, Master Dick! Master Bruce was at an age that...he could only be affected that strongly. He was affected so severely because he didn't understand. You, on the other hand, were, and are, at the age that you can. However, I see no reason _why_ Master Bruce sees the need to neglect you! Indeed, I have half a mind to take him over my knee, and treat him like the child for whom he's acting!"

That got a laugh out of Dick, which brightened his day, and resigned him to set his guardian straight.

That evening, Dick waited until after dinner, which Bruce didn't attend, and went to stand outside the office door. He had pilfered the key from Alfred while the butler was fixing dinner.

When Dick opened the door, he was unprepared for the sight he saw. Bruce had always seemed like...a man's man. Fast cars and faster women, expensive wines and suits that cost more than all of Haly's Circus.

But here that man was, sitting cross legged on the floor, staring up at his parent's faces, crying. "Bruce?" Dick asked.

Bruce stiffened, hastily pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, and stood in one swift motion. "Dick. The door was locked for a rea-" But Dick interrupted his sentence.

"

tIstillthinkwe'." And before Bruce could blink, he had a thirteen year old in his lap and wrapped around him. Dick's arms were tight around his neck, pressing his warm breath into Bruce's neck. Dick straddled Bruce's hips, wrapping his legs around him. "Just because they aren't here anymore, doesn't mean they don't still love you, or that you can't talk about them. Of anyone you know, I'd probably understand that the most." All of this was muffled into Bruce's neck. He smelt like musk, like a more expensive version of his father's Old Spice.

Bruce just turned his face into Dick's hair, nodding into the crown of Dick's head.

**4. Jason**

Dick has nightmares. He'll wake up in a cold sweat, finding his throat sore from screaming, hands grasping to a woman's hand that will never be there again. Usually his grasping hands are grabbed by Bruce's large, strong fingers, and he's promptly pulled into Bruce's lap, to be held and rocked through the worst of the memories.

This time, though, Bruce is on a business venture in Japan with Doctor Tommy, therefore Dick just wakes to air and the encompassing urge to go to the gym Bruce had installed in the basement and fall over and over again, catching himself the last possible second.

It happens twice more that week.

On Thursday, he decides to just forgo sleep, instead staying up to read. Except Dick has never been the type to pull an all-nighter and falls asleep by eleven.

_An almighty bang. Gasps from the audience. "Mom! Dad!" A lone boy, crying on his knees center ring, between two broken bodies._

"No!" Dick's eyes burst open, landing on almond shaped blue eyes at the foot of his bed. "Jason."

"I had a ba-" Dick could tell Jason was biting his lip, even in the low light. Jason's top sheet from his bed was wrapped around him and over his head, like a makeshift cloak and hood. "I heard screaming and wanted to make sure you were okay."

Dick shifted over and pulled his comforter and quilt back, patting the spot next to him. Jason crawled into the bed, dropping the sheet on the floor. He rested his head on Dick's outstretched arm. Dick wrapped his free arm around Jason's chest, his hand stopping between his shoulder blades. He pulled the younger boy to him, slipping his leg between Jason's.

"It's okay to have bad dreams, Jason." Jason buried his face into Dick's neck. "I have them. Bruce has them. Alfred even. We've all had real terrors in our past, Hoodie, and there is no shame in mourning or regretting. It's what makes us human." Dick felt right, his arms around Jason. Like they were supposed to be there, helping each other, not bickering like they usually did. "I know you've been through a lot, Jay, and whenever you feel comfortable talking about it, we're all here."

Jason nodded against his neck, breath evening out until small snores came from his slightly opened mouth.

**3. Tim**

Hospitals have always been the one place that Dick could never stand. It was probably because once, in some shit hole in Nowhere, Idaho, his father had gotten pneumonia, and Haly's circus was going to have to move on without the Flying Graysons. Dick never let go of the fact that his father was in a hospital and that was the reason why all Dick's friends would be leaving him behind.

This wasn't about Dick, though. This is about little Timmy Drake, who's had a crush on Dick since Dick could remember. Little Timmy Drake who just lost his mom and may loose his dad.

Bruce was talking to a doctor a few feet down the hall, Alfred had taken Jason to the cafeteria, and Dick was here with Timmy, who was sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, staring just past his feet.

Dick sat down next to him, sort of mimicking Timmy's pose before pulling the foot close to Tim underneath himself and turning to the younger boy, slipping an arm behind Timmy, resting it on the back of his chair.

Timmy looked up at him, face blank, and it was weird for Dick to not see Timmy's adoring eyes staring up at him.

"Hey, Timmy."

"Tim. I've never liked 'Timmy' and Bernard says it's for babies." Tim says in a detatched tone, like it's something he has to say a lot.

"Who's Bernard?" Dick really didn't care, but he wanted Tim to think of something besides his mom in the basement and his dad down the hall.

"Kid at my new school. Apparently he's taken me under his wing."

"Why did you change schools?"

"Da-Dad thought I wasn't reaching my potential at the public school. Said that the people and knowledge gained there were plebeian, and therefore, beneath me."

Dick narrows his eyes at the thought for a second, and says without thinking, "You're thirteen! You shouldn't even know what plebeian means!"

Tim shrugs and looks back to the ground. "Dad was always talking like that. 'Money makes the man, Timmy-Boy, never let anyone tell you different!' Like he knows anything about making money! He inherited D.I. from Grandpa, and the Board handles everything while he and mom run around the world." Tim's eyes started to water when he mentioned his mom. "He took her away from me. She-she-he never cared what she wanted. What I wanted. He left me all alone and she-she-she was so beautiful and it's _all his fault!_" Tim started sobbing, so Dick pulled the boy to his chest.

Dick just held the boy to him, wrapping him in his arms and holding him tight. "Tim. Tim. Shh, I've got you. I've got you. Shh." He pulled the small boy into his lap, pressed his face into his neck merely held on for the long haul.

Eventually, Bruce came up to him, and when Dick asked with his eyes, whether the notorious Jack Drake had made it, Bruce shook his head, and sat in Tim's vacated seat, placing a consolling hand on the boy's shoulder and joined his ex-ward in consoling the thirteen year old.

**2. Cass**

She was probably the weirdest addition to Bruce's little collection. Dick remembered hearing her name mentioned once or twice by Jason (who, according to Tim, has an epic crush, verging on love, on her), but he didn't know that she had been in foster care.

Well, in all actualities, even Jason hadn't known. Apparently, she couldn't talk. They ('they' being the almighty, all knowing 'them' of the federal government) had thought that she just didn't talk, didn't want to, or that it was a psychological issue due to her father's abuse. But that didn't seem to be the case. Bruce has determined, via his pretentious doctorate in adolescent psychology (So what if he and Dick are fighting? Bruce doesn't need to have so many damn degrees, he might have well have his office wallpapered in certificate paper), that Cass doesn't know _how_ to speak. That she never learned how.

"Third person, feminine, to walk," Dick heard Bruce say, as he passed his office door, on his way to the library.

In a soft, feminine voice, Dick heard Cass say, "She walks, she walked, she will walk, she has walked, she had walked, she will have walked."

"First person, plural, to teach."

"We teach, we taught, we shall teach, we have taught, we had taught, we shall have taught."

"That's the end of the hour, Cass. We'll pick up tomorrow," Bruce said, then a shuffle of papers. "You did very well, Cassandra."

When the Asian girl emerged from Bruce's office, Dick wrapped her up in a hug. The girl froze, but quickly relaxed when she realized that he wasn't attacking her in any way.

He held her tight, lifting her lightly off the ground.

"Welcome to the family."

**1. Damian** _(also 73. Bitter Silence)_

The silence was palpable.

Bruce looked wide eyed at the young boy in front of him. Dick was shooting his eyes from one of them to the other, like they were playing an intense tennis match. Jason looked vaguely disinterested and turned his attention back to the book in his hand (which was beyond suspicious to Dick, but now _definitely_ wasn't the time). Tim looked horrified and vaguely betrayed, but mostly like he wanted to kill the ten year old in front of him. Cass cocked her head to the side, and looked almost like she wanted to poke him.

Alfred merely took the child's jacket to the coat closet.

"You are my father. My mother is missing. I wish to be domiciled here, until she is found." The boy was standing back straight, shoulders square, stomach in. He said his spiel with an aristocratic air. An Al Ghul air.

Bruce's eyes widened, his eyebrows jumping high on his forehead, he gaped like a fish for a moment, then just closed his mouth. Tim whispered furiously, "We don't even know your name."

"My name is Damian Al Ghul, not that it matters for you. You're not his real son. He doesn't need you, anymore." Dick's eyebrows flew to meet his hair line, Jason's book snapped shut, Tim's mouth turned into a tight line, and Cass visibly flinched.

"You have no proof that you are! Talia could have whipped you up in a jar, somewhere!" Tim shouted, furious that the boy would imply that Bruce didn't care about his boys.

Then, out of nowhere, the boy pulls out a _fucking katana_ and is going at Tim. Cass leaps into action, grabbing Bruce's floor lamp and _battling_ with the boy. They fight for a few moments, the clang of metal filling the air, the entire room slack jawed, before Bruce seemed to realize what was happening in front of him.

"ENOUGH!" he shouted, and both Damian and Cass dropped their weapons (well "weapon" in Cass's case). "Boy, if you're going to be a member of this family, that kind of behavior will never happen again! Very rarely do I allow second chances, so you better take this to heart, you do not fight people and you most certainly don't _kill_ people! This isn't the League of Assassins. This is the Wayne family. These boys, Dick, Jason, and Tim, and this girl, Cass, they are your brothers and sister and you'll treat them as such."

It wasn't until later, when Dick was showing Damian to his room, that Damian asked. "Why do you love my father?"

And wasn't that a shit loaded question. Dick didn't know why. Didn't even know _how_, which was probably why he didn't trust this entire situation. "I'm probably not the one to ask that. Or Jason. Maybe Tim or Cass, they're still at the point where Bruce walks on water."

Damian looked confused for a second. "But doesn't he? I mean in the metaphorical sense, of course. That's physically impossible. You Christians are dumb for thinking your savior could do any such thing, as it hasn't been proven he had any meta human powers. Nonetheless, he adopts four orphans because he wants to, he funded Drake's Neon Knights, and the free psychological care there, donates easily forty percent of his yearly earnings to other charities. He's a good man, why don't you and the ginger see that? Are you imbeciles?"

"Bruce and I...we were too close in age to really adopt a father-son relationship. Also, I had a father that was _my father_, unlike Jason, who's father abandoned him, unlike Tim, who's father neglected him, unlike Cass, who's father abused her, unlike you. Bruce isn't my dad, or any kind of dad to me, but I love him. And I hope he loves me, too."

"What about the ginger?"

"Hoodie - Jay - Jason. He. He blames Bruce for not saving him, or maybe for saving him. I'm not sure." Dick looked at the boy on the bed. He was sitting as if he had all the confidence in the world, but there was something in his eyes that seemed...broken.

Dick moved closer to him, made it clear he wasn't going to attack him. Not that Dick could take him, _at all_. Dick may have circus roots, but he'd been above upper class since he was twelve, forget the fact that he was in a hardcore punk band. He grabbed onto the younger boy's tiny, calloused hand (they shouldn't be calloused). He pulled the boy up to him, wrapping his arms around the boy's tiny, muscular waist. Damian's arms fell like limp noodles over Dick's shoulders.

"Grayson, what are you doing to me, and why does my stomach feel...odd?"

Dick let the boy go and smiled. "Those are butterflies. They're telling you that you have a family now."

**0. Clark**

"Then he said that I was a disappointment. That I was wasting my potential if I did the band." Dick swirled his spoon in his cup, watching the cyclone appear and slow until the hot tea settled. A warm June breeze blew through the opened window, reminding Dick that it was that time of year. The time of year Bruce got depressed and took it out on everyone around him, but mostly on himself. He would throw himself into his work, donate more money to anti-crime agencies, and hole himself up in his home office, even during meals. Dick had expected that to lessen with Jason and him around, but well, he was wrong. If anything it had gotten worse as the years wore on him.

Clark hummed, so Dick looked up. He had his own large hand wrapped around, and dwarfing, his own mug. "Well, Dick, he's right, to an extent."

Dick stood up. "Right, well. I guess you _would_ agree with him." He would go back to Gotham, to Roy's apartment. He should have gone there to begin with. Roy would have called Bruce an ass, said the band would make it big, and kissed Dick, pulled him to the couch, and given him a blow job. Because to Roy, there was nothing blow jobs couldn't fix.

"Oh, really?" And Dick realized that he'd said that all out loud. Well, that's embarrassing, and not how he wanted Clark to find out that he was a lot less than straight. The man stood up, and moved to Dick. "Is that what you want?"

Dick looked at Clark. A body builder's form and a journalist's piercing eyes. That sense of alienation and loneliness that seemed to always pull Dick into his relationships. It would be a lie to say that he hadn't been attracted to Clark pretty much since he found out what Little Dick was for, but he never thought he would get _this_. Actually, on the list of things in his head that he thought he'd never get, Clark was only just below Bruce. And maybe this was the closest he'd ever get. The closest Clark and him would get to the real thing that they wanted.

Dick stood up.

"Yes," he said, falling into Clark's arms.


	7. 64: Teenager

Colin hadn't answered any of his text messages in the last thirty-two hours.

Damian didn't even know what he did. One minute they had been walking along, because Damian always walked Colin home to the orphan's apartment, and the next, every reply from Colin had been clipped and pointed.

Like he didn't want to talk to Damian anymore. But Damian, not one to be cowed, brought Colin all the way to his apartment door. He had waited there for the customary departure kiss, that Colin usually insisted on, but none came. Colin merely faked a bitter smile and closed the door in Damian's face.

Normally when the two fought, Damian wouldn't admit to being wrong and a stalemate of silence would last less than a few hours, before Colin got over Damian not being able to say, "I love you" back every time or Damian missing his birthday party because of some charity event far enough away that Damian couldn't bring him, because Colin would miss work.

But in the six years of Damian and Colin's friendship, these silences hadn't lasted more than two hours and sixteen minutes. To say that the thirty-five hours of silence (the thirty-two hours of no replies and the three hours of buffer time, where Damian had assumed Colin would reply) had been unprecedented, would be an understatement.

Unfortunately for Damian, though, he was a teenager and was brooding as such. That is to say, iPod cranked to the max volume, crooning heavy rock, and phone in hand, watching for it to light up with a message from his best friend.

To say that Colin was the most important person in Damian's life wouldn't be false, but wouldn't be exactly true, either. As Damian had grown up within the walls of Wayne Manor, he'd learned that just because someone cared for one person, didn't mean they couldn't care for someone else the same exact amount, even if it was in a different way.

And even if he was uncertain _how_ he felt for Colin, he still did, quite strongly so, and might...might even love him. Maybe. But either way, it didn't matter right now, because Colin was _mad_ at him. Legitimately so, and he couldn't even _apologize_, because he doesn't even know what he _did_. That was a lesson he learned from Drake and the Clone's little "relationship," when the Kent boy had apologized, not knowing what he was apologizing about, then realized what it was, and wasn't sorry, culminating in an even bigger shit-show.

All of a sudden, light from above blinded him, and he turned his head, narrowed eyes landing on Dick as he shook his hood from his older "brother's" grasp.

"Just making sure you're alive under there," Dick sing-songed, ruffling the younger man's hair.

Damian grunted and ducked away from Dick's hand. "Get off, Grayson." His phone lit up, and he scrambled to open it, but nothing was there. He must have hit a button when he had leaned forward. He sighed, and sat back.

"What's up, little D?" Dick asked, kicking up into a handstand on the back of the couch, and flipping back down to land gracefully next to Damian, without disturbing him at all.

"Nothing." And it was nothing. It was ridiculous that he was this upset just because he hadn't talked to Colin. It hadn't even been a full two days. He was being ridiculous. Ridiculous.

He flicked his phone open and went to the messages. _Inbox 0/0_. He decided to check the _Sent_ box to make sure his messages were actually being delivered. They were. He opened the last one he sent. _Colin, please text me back. I don't even know what I did wrong._

"Colin still hasn't replied?" Dick asked, one of his dumb pitying smiles on his dumb pitiful face.

"Shut up, Grayson, no one asked you."

"What even happened? He usually doesn't care about your less than normal behavior, so you must have done something spectacularly Bruce-ish."

"Nothing! I didn't do anything wrong!" Damian jumped up, throwing his phone back to where he had been sitting, "He-He just - He just stopped talking to me. And if it was that I did something, I'd be okay with that, but we were just talking, walking down the street to his apartment, and he stopped talking. Just...stopped."

Dick blinked at him a couple times, but just when he opened his mouth, he was interrupted. "Well, what were you talking about, Demon." Todd.

Damian's mouth thinned into a severe line and he turned to the older boy. "Not that it was any of his business, but we were talking about...about...oh."

They were talking about, well, the only real term for it would be "breaking up," and Damian was only now realizing it. At the time...

At the time, Damian only thought Colin was talking about a friend. An old friend from the orphanage with whom he had recently got back into contact. So when Colin had asked, "If we do this, will we still be okay?" and Damian had replied, "Why wouldn't we be?" because of all the things Damian had inherited from his Wayne linage, he hadn't inherited Bruce's jealousy, it had probably seemed quite insensitive.

It was moments like this that Damian wished his life was more like those damn comic books that Jason read, so he could go back in time and say how he really felt. Say, "WHAT? No! That's not okay, you fool! Can't you see you're my only friend? Can't you see you're the person I care most about in the world? Can't you see I'm in love with you?" Because that was how Damian felt and wasn't this the best moment to realize that?

Damian felt a foreign hot feeling in his eyes and when he spoke, it was like speaking while drowning, crying out for help with a voice so hoarse, it almost wasn't worth his time. "I guess, now that I think about it, we were talking about breaking up."

Dick looked shocked and Jason furrowed his brows, as if confused. "You were dating?"

Now it was Damian's turn to be confused. "Well, we were sleeping together, and he said 'I love you,' and I sometimes said it, too."

Dick's shock turned to outrage. "Damian. Were you sleeping together like, _sex_ sleeping together?" At Damian's nod, he continued, "Damian, just because two people _love_ each other-" he broke off, like he did when he told Drake that the clone had died. Like he didn't want to bare bad news, but what bad news would he have for Damian? He floundered for a moment, then looked to Jason.

Jason looked at Damian, standing in the middle of the living room, and looked down. "Damian, just because two people _love_ each other, and they could love each other more than anyone or anything else in the world, that doesn't mean they're _together_. And just because two people are sleeping together doesn't mean they're together. Look at Dick, if he had a rela-"

"Thanks, Jason. That's enough," Dick said, blush covering his face, all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Damian nodded and smirked, "Yes, Todd, I know all about Grayson's whoredom." But the pleased expression fell from his face as he realized what Jason had said. "So, what you're saying is...is that Colin and I were never really together?"

Dick and Jason shared that look again, then Jason said, "No, no I don't think you were."

Damian looked down at his phone. He flicked it open and stared at his background for a moment. Colin and him at "Build-A-Bear" last summer. (Colin had lost Rory in his move from the Orphanage to the apartment Damian had set him up in. Damian had decided to bring Colin to the shop to cheer him up, and get him not a replacement, but a present to mark the occasion by.) He snapped his phone shut and squeezed it for a moment, his knuckles going white. He threw the phone at the wall, where it didn't break, but the battery popped out. He looked at it for a second, then ran from the room.


	8. Notice

Hey, Guys

In the next few days (well, actually, probably only today) I'm going to be editing past chapters of this, to fix some continuity problems that have come up as I write newer ones.

I wanted to notify you so that you wouldn't be all, "OH MY GOD, IT SAYS NEW CHAPTER BUT I SEE NO CHAPTER!" Okay?

Thanks,

Hope


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